


LOWLANDS

by bogunicorn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ableism, Agent of Fen'Harel!Inquisitor, Agents of Fen'Harel (Dragon Age), Ain't no party like an Inquisition party, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blind Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Eventual Smut, Everyone is invited and nobody is happy about it, F/M, Novelization, POV Multiple, Shapeshifting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26573944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bogunicorn/pseuds/bogunicorn
Summary: Eala Lavellan is a relic of old Elvhenan. It was inevitable that the Dread Wolf would catch her scent.LOWLANDS is a canon divergent novelization/re-telling of Dragon Age: Inquisition. Updates semi-regularly.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Solas (Dragon Age), Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	LOWLANDS

**Author's Note:**

> I’m exactly as bitter as you are that almost none of the DAO and DA2 characters showed up in Inquisition and that Lavellan doesn’t get to bitch more about people assuming she’s Basically Andrastian Now. So now a bunch of them will and she gets to complain about the situation as much as she wants.
> 
> Mind the tags (seriously), be good to each other, and never, ever believe me if I say “the next chapter will be done soon”. The smut is a long way off, but if you’ve read An Issue of Faith… don’t be surprised if that’s the direction it goes in. Good? Good.

She’s thirteen the first time it happens.

She is a burden. She would be salvageable if she was a mage, but she is not. She is barefaced, barefoot, and blind. The aravels are too far away for her to see now, no matter how brilliant and bright the great land sails are. They’ve picked up and left without remembering to look for her first. That happens; she is small for her age and lapses easily into silence, too used to being ignored mid-sentence to bother speaking up. 

Eala picks a direction she _thinks_ her clan has gone and walks in the straightest line she can manage. She’s too far off the beaten path to be effective, and the forest bleeds together, turning her in a dozen different directions. She could be wandering in circles for all she knows.

She doesn’t remember stopping to sleep. She doesn’t remember what she ate, or how many days she was on her own. But when she catches up to her clan (and she _does_ catch up to her clan, in days or weeks or maybe a month?), Eala’s knees are stained and her breath smells like iron. 

Though Eala couldn’t tell you — or anyone, or _herself_ — exactly when Da’len started to follow her. Her little white shadow walks into camp at her heel, her fur as white as Eala’s hair, their eyes the same shade of pink. Keeper Deshanna has the hunters drive the wolf away by throwing rocks and shaking the nearby bushes until she flees, but by morning she’s returned.

In the next week, the Keeper drives the wolf away every night, and every morning she’s tucked against Eala’s chest, though no hunter ever sees her re-enter the camp. 

—-

Weeks pass. Eala turns fourteen. Having a wolf in the camp pleases no one else. Whatever berth they gave Eala before, it’s larger now, and almost universal. The fact is that they make themselves useful; there are few things they trust Eala with, but Da’len never turns on her, even when she growls or snaps at others. 

The Keeper accepts the beast after a terrible week of hunting, when the clan faces the choice between starvation or attempting to trade with an unknown shemlen settlement. Eala disappears for hours without warning, but she returns with food, a great boar with teethmarks in its throat. She points to Da’len’s bloodied mouth as an answer to the obvious questions, and again disappears to the nearby river. While Eala gives her friend a bath, Keeper Deshanna orders the boar to be butchered and reluctantly addresses the clan while it’s roasting over the fire.

They don’t have to _love_ the strange girl, but the beast has earned its keep. For now.

—-

Eala grows. So does Da’len. They disappear more frequently. Eala comes back smelling like dirt and dead things, and more than once she returns with blood on her teeth. It’s obvious to anyone who pays any attention that she’s cursed.

But the autumn is hard, and the winter is harder, and Da’len stands between them and starvation. Talk of leaving them behind starts in whispers and stays there.

The wolf only grows to be more bizarre. She seems to understand that Eala is blind, and around the girl, she’s more lapdog than beast. Where Da’len goes, Eala easily follows, and it’s not unusual to see her carrying something in her jaws only to lay it gently at the girl’s feet. Most unnerving, however, is the way that the wolf _stares_ , as if she’s truly listening.

More than once, Eala seems to respond to something that should be well out of her earshot. Whenever it happens, Da’len is always staring.

Summer comes around again, Eala turns fifteen, and the hunting improves. With more humans in the woods taking advantage of the favorable weather and abundant game, the clan’s luck takes a turn. A hunter dies to a stray human arrow, and they mourn; another dies after stepping on a snake; a third is badly injured when they fall and break the roof of a wolf’s den, hurting a pup and setting the parents on their trail.

The last one comes back with their ruined leg dragging behind them and the beasts still on their heel. It’s Eala who comes between the hunter and the wolves, kneeling in the grass with Da’len at her side. 

The wolves leave, and that night the elders go to the Keeper.

—-

Two days after the incident with the wolves, Eala has her vallaslin.

It’s as bright and bloody red. She’s good, she doesn’t flinch, even when the First slips or scrapes her skin too hard. It’s his first vallaslin, but the First wouldn’t let her keep Da’len with her during the ritual. He’s imperfect, but he’s careful, and she appreciates it.

The First heals her wounds with a few touches of precious healing salve and a gentle wash of his magic. He gives her some extra salve for the next few days, and a drought to help her fall asleep so she doesn’t stir from the pain in her sleep and hurt herself.

When the morning comes, the clan is gone. They leave behind her aravel, but the halla that had pulled her small home had left with the herd.

Eala tries not to cry, her face still too raw for tears.

She couldn’t tell you — or anyone, or _herself_ — exactly when she leaves her campsite, but it is unimportant. 

This time, they don’t catch up.

—-

A traveler passes through. He has a monster’s teeth and an old man's patience.

When she comes across him, he offers a place at his fire and a bite of his food in exchange for the answer to a question.

"Are you a girl who became a wolf," he asks, "or yourself?"


End file.
